


Stars Exploding, We'll be Fireproof

by pocketsized_owl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Analysis, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, be gay do crime, daichi and suga are the real ones as per usual, except noya needs to be put into baby jail, get ready to brush your teeth, relationship analysis, the romantic getaway you've always dreamed of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsized_owl/pseuds/pocketsized_owl
Summary: “Did you know that it’s illegal to take pictures of the Eiffel Tower at night?” Noya asks Suga, as they stare at the necklaces and earrings lined up behind the glass walls of the jewelry store. “Apparently the lights are an artwork, and they’re copyrighted so you can’t take pictures and post them on social media.”Suga bursts into laughter. “Is this why you want to go there? To take illegal pictures?”Noya pumps his fist. “Of course!”---Or, Nishinoya wants to take illegal pictures of the Eiffel Tower, and Asahi tries his best to stop his boyfriend from committing a crime, but he's not good at it. Domesticity and hilarity ensue. An engagement in front of the Eiffel Tower happens....just kidding! Unless...?
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52
Collections: Asanoya (main pairing), Asanoya Week 2020





	Stars Exploding, We'll be Fireproof

**Author's Note:**

> Technically an epilogue to a multi-chap AsaNoya fanfic that I am currently writing, this fic can also be read as an extremely fluffy, stand-alone, spoiler-free one-shot. The beginning of this fic is almost entirely exposition and character analysis, so if you're interested in that world-building, keep a lookout for that multi-chap fic! It will be a slow-burn, get together fic. I'll be putting it into a series with this one. 
> 
> This fic is written for and beta'd by the wonderful [sourdoughdreadbowl](https://sourdoughdreadbowl.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Thanks for being such a supporter in every writing endeavor I choose to enter, it means a lot! 
> 
> Lastly, the inspiration for this fic comes from AsaNoya Week 2020's Day 5 prompt, which is wedding/proposal. There is no wedding, but there certainly is a proposal!

Asahi has been apartment hunting around Tokyo; it’s kind of a secret, but also not really. Nishinoya knows about it because Asahi has mentioned it once or twice (or a few more times than that), but he doesn’t know the full scale and magnitude of this decision. Hence, why this is still more or less a secret, or at best a half-explained truth. 

What kick-started this journey is Asahi’s decision not to renew the lease for his current Tokyo apartment, which he has lived in for six whole years. Yes, he has fond memories of the place, and he is nothing if not a stickler to the familiar, but the space is too small for Nishinoya’s exuberant personality as well as their big plans for the future. Getting together in their adulthood is something neither of them had planned, but both unconsciously wanted: they’ve danced around each other since their teenage years, and that gap of _what could have been_ lingered even as they went their separate ways. In the end, all roads lead them back to each other, so Nishinoya and Asahi, at age twenty-five and twenty-six respectively, reunited as better people. They discovered each other to be an even better fit than their teenage selves have ever dreamed. 

Thus, there is no separating: Asahi has known this since the first time they kissed. They talk about the future all the time, whether it’s marriage or children or the trajectory of their careers. It’s always _in ten years we should do this,_ or _for our thirtieth anniversary we should go here_. Either way, it’s _I can’t live without you, please stay with me forever,_ and _you're the best thing that has ever happened to me._ None of those things are exaggerations. 

So, Asahi and Nishinoya need a new apartment. One that is bigger, brighter, and better: more permanent. Maybe in the suburbs where they have more space, or near a train station or airport so that Nishinoya can commute. Either way, this is a big change and Asahi is nervous about it. A good nervous, of course. Excitement is a better description, probably. Yes, Asahi is excited: about the new apartment, about their future together. It’s why he keeps talking about it, but Nishinoya is busy. He’s always busy. 

Nishinoya is all wild smiles and pretty eyes whenever Asahi brings it up, but he doesn’t fully know how their current living situation looks like, because he spends a lot of time away. 

Here’s the thing: Nishinoya never _actually_ moved in. He moved into Asahi’s life, yes, but not into his apartment. Noya travels abroad for half a year, and then around Japan for the other half. His wanderlust heart doesn’t allow him to stay in one place for too long, and he has taken off for the world like a monarch butterfly ever since the end of high school, although he’s since found an anchor here in Tokyo: Asahi, who he comes home to between every big journey, every small trip, and all the moments in between. In return, Asahi is always here, waiting. Missing him, with all the parts of his being. 

They’ve learned to compromise their complicated schedules. Noya works as a private volleyball coach for powerhouse schools during his time in Japan, and as a tourist magazine editor whenever he’s abroad. Sometimes he won’t go abroad, though, if he sees that Asahi is working too hard and not taking care of himself. Then, he’ll stay home and edit the magazine while curled up in a corner of their tiny living room sofa. 

Asahi’s work schedule is much more rigid in comparison. He’s an apparel designer for a relatively unknown Tokyo brand, with insane studio hours approaching collection seasons but more free time in between than the average salaryman. It’s during those free periods when he puts in a vacation request and goes abroad with Nishinoya. Other times, he will come home from work to an empty apartment, and he’ll notice a few of his sweaters or t-shirts missing. They always magically reappear when Nishinoya returns. 

This lifestyle works out for the two of them, he thinks. Asahi’s one-bedroom apartment in Tokyo has become a home-base of sorts. They rest there during the busiest times of the year, and plan for their next big trip whenever they’re free. There is a section in Asahi’s wardrobe for Nishinoya’s clothes, and there are always two toothbrushes lined up behind the bathroom sink. A few suitcases stack up in front of the door, and they put their shoes near there. 

In the beginning of their relationship, whenever Nishinoya would stay over for more than a week or two, he would offer to pay half the rent. Asahi declined every single time and always said that his presence here is enough, but Noya is rarely satisfied with that. Thus, he built Asahi a website. He designed him a logo. Sometimes, he even comes to the studio and takes pictures of Asahi’s designs or portraits of him at work, squinting at dress forms and draping fabrics. These pictures all go up into the internet, even the ones where Asahi looks scary. Which is, well. Most of them. 

The best part of the website, however, is a tab filled with Asahi’s own designs, outside of the commissioned pieces made for the apparel company: a collection of kids’ and family fashion, all in illustrations instead of actual, complete garments. It started as a passion project, something Asahi would doodle in his own time, before Nishinoya built the website and decided that they must be included in his portfolio. 

“Someone might see it and contact you,” he had said, and someone did. His boss at work, actually. He was very interested in the website as well as the person who designed it, and had offered to transfer Asahi to the family and children’s department of the apparel company. A dream come true, honestly. _Yes,_ he almost said, but he wants to talk it over with Nishinoya first because this decision concerns him, too. Everything about their future concerns each other. 

So, if that counts, then Asahi has two secrets. Or more like one-and-a-half, since the apartment secret isn’t fully a secret? Either way, he’ll bring it up with Noya at some point. Meanwhile, he needs to get ready to go tour one of the apartments that he’s been looking at: one with a bedroom, an office, and a small balcony. One with enough space for both of them; another symbol for their union. 

He responds to Suga and Daichi’s latest text in their group chat, and walks out of the door. 

\---

Nishinoya has a secret: he’s supposed to be home in Tokyo by now, but he’s not. Instead, he’s at Sendai, and he’s hanging out with Suga. Daichi was supposed to come, too, but he got held up at work so it’s just him and Suga, each sipping a colorful slushie from Seven-Eleven as they stop in front of a jewelry store. Noya knows that it’s impolite to walk around and drink something at the same time, but it’s so, so hot outside; an early afternoon in an incandescent July. It’s awful, although nothing can get worse than summers in Tokyo, and Noya has sat through almost three of them at this point. There aren’t a lot of things that he won’t do for Asahi, but right now he thinks that the scalding summers kind of push the limit. 

“Did you know that it’s illegal to take pictures of the Eiffel Tower at night?” Noya asks Suga, as they stare at the necklaces and earrings lined up behind the glass walls of the jewelry store. “Apparently the lights are an artwork, and they’re copyrighted so you can’t take pictures and post them on social media.” 

Suga bursts into laughter. “Is this why you want to go there? To take illegal pictures?” 

Noya pumps his fist. “Of course!” 

“Best of luck calming Asahi down from a heart attack,” Suga says, as he pushes the glass door open. “On second thought, you should send me a video of his reaction.” 

“Bold of you to assume that he’ll let me record that.” 

“When has that ever stopped you?” 

“Never!” 

“That’s my boy.” Suga’s voice lowers as they step into the store, and the temperature drops by several degrees because of the quiet, whirring air conditioning. “Alright, Nishinoya,” There are several other customers in the store, but they’re all silent. “Do not, and I repeat, _do not_ climb on these counters, okay?. They’re glass, they’ll break.” 

Noya squints. “Suga-san, what am I? A child?” 

Suga raises a grey eyebrow, so Noya slurps on his slushie. 

“I should have asked Ryuu to come instead of you,” he says, and gets kicked in the ankles. To the best of his ability, he suppresses an _oof_ as well as an urge to kick his old upperclassmen right back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was joking.” 

“You’re talking to the man who chose the Tanakas’ rings for them,” Suga warns, raising a pointer finger accusingly. “Just tell me what you’re looking for.”

At the same time, an employee makes their way to them and asks them how she can help. So Noya says, to both of them, “Something not too extravagant, probably.” 

Suga nods along. 

“But it shouldn’t be cheap. Something with a diamond, at least.” 

When the employee turns around and leads them into the store, Suga smiles at him. “Romantic.” 

Noya bites back a grin. “You know it.” 

For Noya’s entire life, he has only ever wanted one thing from the people around him: trust. He wants them to trust him, to rely on him, to never worry about him. _I will always, always have your backs_ , he swore to his teammates before every volleyball game, but that is something that also continues in his life. Noya never gives up on anyone, and he doesn’t allow anyone to give up on him, either. If they do, it’s an insult to his pride as a libero, as a person. 

Being given up on hurts him more than anything else in the world. It’s why Noya rushes headfirst into every obstacle, every opportunity, and every social relationship he has ever had. Appearing by someone’s side when they need him most is how he establishes that he’s there: that he’ll always be there, no matter what. There was a period in his life when he had thought running away was fun, but no longer. Noya dislikes loneliness. He always has. 

Asahi is a very different person from Noya, “very different” being an understatement, probably. Asahi is afraid of trust, for one, because he’s afraid of being a letdown. He freaks out when people rely on him, not because he hates being depended on but because he thinks being trusted means living up to an unrealistic expectation, a version of himself that he doesn’t know how to reach. For Asahi, failure is not an option, not because he’s afraid of showing weakness but because he’s afraid of hurting the people around him. His ever-persisting self-esteem issues have convinced him to always second-guess himself, always avoid risk-taking or doing anything remotely dangerous, even if there’s a great chance for a good outcome. 

Both Asahi and Noya’s biggest fears are to become a burden for the people around them, but at the same time they fall easily, they love easily, and they’re fiercely loyal. They desire intimacy, but they’re afraid of being hurt. They are opposites, but identical in all the ways that matter. 

In the past two years and a half that they’ve dated each other, endless compromises have been made. Their relationship is something that Noya knows Asahi is completely sure about, and he has carved a Noya-shaped hole in his life that only one person can fill, in the same way he’s allowed Daichi and Suga to see even the worst parts of himself. In return, Noya lets Asahi miss him, and lets him bring him to bed when he stays up working too late on his computer. Around Asahi, Noya has learned to cry, learned to feel sad. He has learned to get sick and get scared and ask for strong arms around him whenever he needs it. 

So, an engagement is only the most natural of next steps, but Asahi doesn’t know Noya is proposing yet. He only knows that they’re going to Paris in two weeks, to do nothing for a month except to have a change in scenery. Hence, it’s a secret, and he has sworn all of their mutual friends to silence about this. He knows that Asahi is looking for a new apartment, probably something a little bigger than what they currently have, but Noya’s surprise is a bigger one, he knows it is. His stomach does a somersault at the possibility of leaving Japan as boyfriends, and coming back as fiancés. 

He even did the thing, the thing that couples only do on TV. He stole Asahi’s fabric tape once in the middle of the night, and measured the size of his ring finger while he was asleep. He had to throw the tape under the bed when Asahi stirred and pulled him under the covers, with his blue-light glasses still on his face. 

He rattles off the measurements to the jewel store employee now, having memorized it after thinking about it for so long. The employee’s eyes widen when she hears the numbers. Perhaps she only registers just then, that Noya is not buying a ring for a woman. He and Suga exchange a look as she chuckles nervously. 

Still, she remains helpful. About thirty minutes later, they’ve managed to narrow down the type of ring that Noya is looking for: something silver, instead of gold. A wedding band, instead of a ring. He thinks that he may be too particular about this, because how on _earth_ is he going to find a masculine-looking wedding band that is not lined with diamonds, but _still_ has at least a few? He does not know. At least but this is not the only jewelry store they’re going to. Suga has a whole list of stores in the area, courtesy of when he helped Ryuu buy his engagement ring with Kiyoko. He has since become the pin-point person in this matter for all of their other pairs of marrying friends. It’s very much like Suga to love _love_ , and to want to match-make everyone around him or at least participate in the process. Thus, Noya knows that if they can’t find anything in this store, they can always move on to another one. Suga is reliable like that. 

So, with that in mind, he is not super surprised when in the end, Suga comes in clutch with a surprise. The man only drifts away for about fifteen seconds, before coming back and pulling Noya towards what looks like a normal, classic wedding band: it’s silver and slightly wider than a normal ring, but otherwise quite plain. For a moment, Noya feels puzzled by the gleam in his expression, the way he’s smiling like he found a pot of gold. 

“Suga-san,” he says, sadly, “Do you truly think that Asahi-san is this boring?” 

“Yes,” Suga responds, but it’s clearly a joke. Instead, he barely suppresses a grin as he turns to the employee and asks her to take the ring out from its place underneath the glass counter. Then, as she reaches her hands into the counter and pulls the ring out from its slot, Noya sees it. The thing that drew Suga to it in the first place. 

A tiny spark on the inside, twinkling like a star. 

“A diamond,” he gasps, and it is. A small diamond embedded on the inside of the band, something that would brush against the sensitive part of his ring finger instead of scream at the outside world. At first glance, the ring is completely inconspicuous, but upon closer examination, there is a glimmer that only they can see. Noya studies the ring, and all he can think about is Miyagi, how the grey skies look during winter time when it snows. 

Just like that late January evening when he finally told Asahi, at age seventeen, that he loved him. 

Of course, they were only teenagers back then, and Asahi was about to graduate. Nothing came out of the confession, except for Noya’s intense hatred toward winter for the next few years. At the time, he hated the way ice prickled on his skin, burned his lungs, and caused his body to tremble; but now, it’s different. Now, in his adulthood with Asahi by his side, when he thinks back to the tears streaming down his face as he trudged on the snow while running home, he can only see it as the beginning of something grand. 

_Good things come to those who wait_. This is one of the most important things that Noya has ever learned from Asahi, who never hesitates to stop and enjoy the little things in life. Knowing what he has now, a full ten years later, he’s grateful that he waited. 

Asahi waits today, too, at their home in Tokyo. He waits, because Noya is getting on the _shinkansen_ this afternoon. They’ll see each other by dusk. Noya is happy that tonight, he gets to fall asleep in his arms again. 

“I know that you would probably want something flashier,” Suga says, delicately, “but Asahi would probably love this.” The employee has given the silver ring to him, and he’s holding it with the tip of his pale fingers, examining it with gentle grey eyes. He turns it around and around, watching the little diamond shine with the multidirectional lights of the jewelry store. Gingerly, Noya reaches out a hand, and Suga drops the ring in his palm. A healthy weight, something fit for Asahi’s hand. 

“Yeah, he will,” Noya says, barely breathing. Suga is right, of course. Asahi is a romantic. Asahi is the most romantic person Noya has ever known. “If he likes it, then it’s perfect for me too.” 

Suga smiles. Noya turns to the employee. “We’ll take it.” 

The woman’s eyes soften. “My pleasure. If you would come this way.” She gestures to a register near the door where they came in. Suga has to push him by the shoulders before he finally realizes that he’s supposed to follow. The three of them talk about measurements, where to deliver the rings by mail, payment information, while Noya vibrates in his seat the whole time. He clenches and unclenches his fists, over and over again, gripping at the side of his chair. 

Then, when they finally leave the store, Noya climbs onto Suga and hangs onto him, his heart threatening to burst out his chest. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you,” he says, and Suga shifts Noya weight around so that he can carry him without falling over, and that’s how they leave the shopping center. 

\---

Usually Nishinoya is the type to organize their plans down to a T, but this time, they do nothing in Paris. Well, they do some things in Paris, but not much. Neither of them know a wink of French apart from the customary _bonjour_ and _merci,_ and they only really came here for one reason: to be together in the city of love. 

And, of course, for Nishinoya to get pictures of Eiffel Tower at night. Asahi is still trying to convince him not to do that, but to no avail; Noya tends to have little regard for his own safety, whether legal, emotional, or physical. In the end, they meet in the middle: they can take pictures of it only from the comfort of their apartment, the Airbnb that they’ll be living here for the next few weeks. 

Either way, they have a whole month here. There is absolutely no rush for anything. Sometimes, they’ll sit down for twenty minutes after dinner and book a few touristy things to do in advance, but usually they don’t decide what to do that day until they wake up. 

Today, like most days, Asahi wakes up first. He finds his face tucked in the crook of Nishinoya’s elbow, and stays there for a few more seconds before rolling out of bed. He makes his way to the kitchenette and puts on the coffee, waiting to hear the familiar grumble of the Keurig machine, before heading back to the bedroom. Then, he wakes Nishinoya up from bed, and they brush their teeth together at the sink with their eyes closed. 

They hold hands while they walk back to the kitchen, where Asahi pours himself a mug of coffee. Noya climbs onto the breakfast bar right across from the Keurig machine and sits with his legs dangling off the side, swinging his feet like a child and kicking off his slippers. He looks soft, where the sun from the big windows outside lights him up just right, and he is a doll in Asahi’s white t-shirt, the collar almost sliding off his left shoulder.

“Asahi,” Nishinoya murmurs, reaching out a slim hand. 

Wordlessly, Asahi puts down his coffee, and pulls a hair tie off his wrist. 

“Bun or ponytail?” Noya asks, hands already running through Asahi’s hair. Asahi closes his eyes at the sensation. 

“You decide.”

He leans back against the granite countertop of the breakfast bar, in between Nishinoya’s legs. He needs to squat a little bit in order for his fun-sized boyfriend to work on his hair without reaching his arms too high, but he doesn’t really mind it. Nishinoya has always liked Asahi’s long hair, and has learned how to make a million different hairstyles out of it. From the way he is hooking up the hair behind his ear with his pinky finger, Asahi knows that he’s probably going to go with a half-up, half-down style. 

And he does. He ties the half-up part into a bun, too. 

“Thank you,” Asahi says when he turns around, reaching a hand up to touch his hair. 

Nishinoya gives him a toothy grin, one that turns his eyes into tiny crescents. Asahi thinks that he looks younger like this, with his hair down instead of spiked into points, the tips reaching his eyes and covering the outer shell of his ears. This is a version of him that Asahi never got to know in high school, one who is delicate and quiet in the mornings, blurry around the edges and sleepy in oversized shirts. As always, the thought squeezes his ribcage, so he touches Noya on the back of his neck, and tilts his small face up to kiss him. Noya’s eyes flutter close as he runs his hands up Asahi’s broad back, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him closer. 

Dawn leaves an imprint on the back of Asahi’s closed eyelids, turning everything red and orange, like fireworks. Sparks fly. They always fly, even now. Nishinoya is warm and alive underneath Asahi’s hands, his shoulder frames slight and his wrists skinny, but he’s persistent. He parts Asahi’s lips with the swipe of a tongue, and they kiss again and again, until they run out of breath. 

For the rest of the afternoon, they decide to go grocery shopping. Asahi jots down a list of things they need in the notes section of his smartphone while Nishinoya spikes up his hair in the bathroom, and they stop by a bakery for _pain au chocolat_ on their way to the small grocery store ten minutes from their street. Asahi doubles and triple checks the list, mumbling to himself, while Noya occasionally glances over. Mostly he just hangs onto Asahi’s arm, though, like he’s a small animal or afraid of getting lost, or both. 

Asahi doesn’t shake him off. For the past weeks, they’ve walked through the streets of Paris with their hands linked because they can, and they savor the chance to do so. It’s one of the reasons they like traveling: because sometimes, they end up somewhere where people don’t bat an eyelash at two men holding hands. Paris is one of these places, and by now, he can hold Noya’s hand in public with minimal anxiety. 

When they first landed in Paris, it was nerve-wracking, though. For the first few days they walked around the city, Asahi would let go of Nishinoya’s hand every time someone walked past them. Then, he would hesitate to link their hands back together even after the stranger is long gone. During this entire crisis, all Nishinoya would do is give their hands a sidelong glance. It’s a process they go through in every country they go to: Asahi gets to decide if they hold hands or not, and Noya will wait for as long as he can for the verdict. 

Years of traveling abroad have made Nishinoya worldly, and he has always possessed much more fearlessness than Asahi: to him, holding hands is not a big deal, not even in the streets of Japan where they get stared at and whispered about. But, while Nishinoya gets angry whenever Asahi lets his self-doubt get to him, he does not overstep boundaries when it comes to genuine insecurities. Especially as an adult, he understands that when it comes to something like this - unlearning society’s arbitrary rules about who they can love and cannot love - Asahi needs time. And time, Nishinoya gives. 

By the end of that week, Asahi stopped shaking off Nishinoya’s hand. The first time someone walked by them without Asahi flinching, he ended up having to carry his koala of a boyfriend for several blocks until the younger man asked to be let down, so that he could run to an ice cream stand by the end of the block. 

Nishinoya buys groceries in a similar fashion, too: distracted. He yells when he finds something interesting, climbs the display shelves when he can’t reach what he wants, and parkours over stacks of cans. At one point, he has to restack a pyramid of tiny Nutella containers when he knocks them over with his feet, and Asahi bends down to help him do so because he honestly can’t do much else. This is why grocery shopping is always a whole-day affair for the both of them, and why Asahi writes a list: that way, he can rein in Nishinoya while at the same time ensuring they get all the things they need. 

But, in the end, grocery shopping with Nishinoya has its perks. With half his attention distracted by Noya’s chaos and the other half trying to focus on the list, Asahi’s mind no longer strays to the strangers standing in the same soup aisle, or the crowds by the produce section that he tries his best to avoid but he _can’t_ _because he needs to get that last thing of shallots before his own run out and when was the last time he ate fruit oh my god ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-_

Grocery shopping with Nishinoya means that on their way out of the store, they carry out a cute little tiramisu in addition to the things that they had to buy. The dessert was not on their list, but Asahi has learned to love life’s surprises, and Nishinoya is very good at making those happen. They also have a whole additional bag of snacks, which Noya eats half on their way back to the apartment. 

Dinner is pasta, a recipe that Noya learned from his time in Italy that Asahi has picked up for himself. They’re sitting at the breakfast bar again when the sky, framed by the full-length balcony windows, finally turns from blue to yellow. Then, sometime in between the dusk transforming into night, the Eiffel Tower goes up in orange lights, like flames licking it from the inside. 

The monument is not exactly close to their apartment, but it’s visible from anywhere in Paris, an essential part of the skyline. They have five minutes to take a good selfie of it, until the lights dim for a full hour until the next time it flares up.

So Nishinoya hands his phone to Asahi, and climbs into his lap. Asahi wraps an arm around his small waist, steadying them both, and shifts the phone around them until they get a good angle. Nishinoya’s arms wrap around Asahi’s neck, tucking his nose into long brown hair. He laughs, because they both kind of smell like tomato sauce. 

Asahi takes the picture. _Snap_. 

\---

One of the things they actually book in advance is a day at the Louve. It is Asahi’s suggestion, of course, despite the Louve being a constantly crowded tourist attraction and Asahi being constantly intimidated by strangers, but Noya goes along with it. It doesn’t matter that he himself finds art museums boring, because he knows that if he doesn’t come along, Asahi won’t be comfortable by himself: despite his broad stature and his intimidating features, Asahi hates taking up space. He cares too much about what other people say, about how other people look at him. It’s one of his neurotic tendencies that Noya will never fully understand, but he accepts it, and he tries to help whenever he can. 

So they go to the Louve, together. They don’t go see the Mona Lisa, but they do hang out in the less crowded places where they put smaller-sized oil paintings of flowers and fruits. The objects look smooth, even softer than flowers and fruits in real life, and Noya notices something on the wall about the _golden age of Dutch paintings._

_That’s nice_ , he thinks. Noya has been to the Netherlands, once, even though he doesn’t quite remember it. _Not quite remembering_ tends to happen whenever he makes day trips to smaller countries, and end up clubbing instead of doing anything actually significant. 

But now, he won’t forget. Dutch paintings… Asahi seems to like them. Noya watches him as he leans his face close to the wall of paintings, as close as he can stand without attracting the attention of the hallway attendant, tilting his chin from side to side. He left his hair down today, and the brown curls tumble down his shoulders like they’re drawn on. He also wears his glasses, but it does nothing to mask his intense stare. Noya knows this expression, he has seen it through the lens of a camera multiple times before. It’s the face Asahi puts on when he’s drawing, designing: pushing pins into a bodice, sliding fabric under a sewing machine, and lining up a ruler to chalk on some seam allowance. 

It’s the same face that he used to put on back when they played volleyball together, the face he made as he zeroed in on the ball, and jumped for a powerful spike. 

Noya shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then he stands closer to Asahi, and hooks their arms together. 

Nishinoya doesn’t particularly care for art museums, but he cares for someone who does. Asahi is enough of a piece of art to him, anyways. He spends the whole day staring at the side of Asahi’s face, at the way his eyes flicker as he studies the artwork like he wants to paint them himself. 

That said, Asahi doesn’t exactly nerd out until they get to the fashion section, though. When it comes to something he cares about, like poetry and literature and fashion, Asahi can get immersed in talking about them. He almost leans his forehead on the glass that encases the garments, as he lists out each pleat or fold that he knows how to make or recognizes to be historically significant. He only takes his eyes off the fabrics to observe the descriptions with his pointer finger, mumbling the foreign words aloud, before giving up. Again, the two of them don’t know any French, and the Japanese audio guide they received from the front desk can get funky to use sometimes. Noya tries his best to translate the English descriptions, but he does feel somewhat abysmal when it comes to the more technical terms. Asahi has to drag him away when he starts furiously googling every unfamiliar word, having declared war on every term he doesn’t understand. 

The last section that they spend a lot of time in is that of the marble statues. They’re Greek or Roman, or whatever. Medieval, maybe. All Noya knows is that he likes mimicking their poses, and making Asahi take pictures of him doing so. A few local teenagers around him actually joined him in mimicking some of the bigger statues that require more than one person, so Asahi takes pictures of them, too. In the end, Noya even manages to rope Asahi into posing with some statues of Jesus Christ, and by the time they walk out of the Louve, they have twenty or so hilarious pictures to send to Ryuu and Shouyou. 

The next day, they go into the more fashionable districts of Paris, and they window shop. It’s something they do in every country they go to, because Asahi likes looking at the clothes. If he gets inspired enough, he even takes pictures of the garments and will go into full-art mode when they get home, sketching away on his notepad until he comes up with a few illustrations that he likes. 

Occasionally, very occasionally, Asahi will find something he wants to purchase during these window shopping sprees. The item must be good-looking, reasonably-priced, _and_ versatile: which means, he mostly buys clothes for Noya, instead of himself. Today is no exception. 

“Nishinoya, go try this on,” Asahi says, handing him a black, striped turtleneck. They’re in the sales section of the store, which is why they find off-season clothing. Noya didn’t even know that there’s such a thing called _off-season clothing_ until Asahi told him about the different collections that come out during the year, or that clothes typically sell cheaper during their off-season. He’s always been a t-shirt, then jacket over jacket over jacket kind of guy, and both of those items of clothing are the same price no matter which month of the year he buys them. 

“I will never, ever, ever wear a turtleneck,” Noya declares, shoving the cursed item back at Asahi’s chest. The turtleneck, which is not yet stretched over the body of a human being, looks limp and tiny in Asahi’s big hands. “I can’t breathe in them! And they’re too hot! They make my neck itch.” 

“Stop, you’re too loud,” Asahi hisses while doing something that looks mildly like jazz hands, before turning back to the rack and abandoning the turtleneck. He picks up something else. “Then what about this?” 

Noya squits at the orange sweater that he is now holding up, one with large stitches and braided cuffs. “Doesn’t this look something you would wear, instead of me? It looks….” 

“Sage?” 

“Ancient. Like I have an indoor garden or something.” 

Asahi stays silent for a long time. Then he whines, “ _I_ want an indoor garden.” 

“That’s exactly my point,” Noya points at Asahi’s nose. “Why are you buying me a sweater that you would wear, Asahi-san?” 

“B-b-because you wear mine? So you must like them, right?” 

Noya throws his arms up. “I like _your_ sweaters, Asahi-san. Not sweaters that just _look like yours_.” 

And that’s when Asahi turns pink, and his eyes start to trail off to the side of Noya’s face. Noya blinks once, twice. 

Then, “Asahi,” he says, firmly. “Spit it out.” 

Asahi puts his face in his hands, and he mutters, half into his hands and half into the orange sweater. It sounds something like, “obghughubhgubhgubh.” 

“It’s orange… like my volleyball uniform back in high school?” Noya asks, deciphering the mumbling words, standing on his tip-toes now and tugging on Asahi’s forearms. His boyfriend does not budge. His grip is iron firm, and his face remains in his hands. So Noya changes tactics, and runs his fingers through Asahi’s long hair instead, pulling him down closer. “Yes or no?” 

“... Yes,” is the reluctant reply, whispered from between the splay of his large fingers. 

So Noya lets him go and he laughs, the sound drawing a few stares in the quiet store but nothing too bad. Then he tugs the orange sweater out from between Asahi’s hands, and then pulls it over his t-shirt. He looks down at himself. Now that it’s on him, he thinks that the color seems more akin to mustard yellow than Karasuno’s orange. It really is soft, just like it looks. A little fuzzy, like it’s made of wool. The collar is wide and the sleeves slip over his hands, but Noya does not swim in it. It fits him like it’s _his,_ but at the same time doesn’t feel too different from wearing Asahi’s. 

“I don’t hate it,” he announces to everyone in the store, while Asahi reaches for his hands and starts folding the braided cuffs back, gently revealing slim fingers. Noya is surprised that Asahi hasn’t made a big deal about him trying on the sweater in the middle of the store, but he doesn’t mention it. He just watches his Asahi’s hands work on the fabric, rolling it backwards while his fingers close around Noya’s own, holding it in place. 

It is times like these that Noya remembers: no matter how much he likes it when people rely on him, a part of himself still wants to be taken care of. He hates being short, being travel-sized, and consequently treated like a child as a result, but he doesn’t hate being small. At least, not as much as he used to. If being small means Asahi will roll back his sleeves for him or occasionally zip up his coat with Noya inside of it, then he doesn’t mind it. 

“Asahi-san,” he says, still staring at his boyfriend’s hands, at the way their fingers intertwine. 

“Hm?” 

“If you keep putting me in clothes that remind you of high school, then people will think you’re a pedo.” 

Asahi pales. “Seriously?” 

“Nope,” Noya says, then he pulls their intertwined fingers up to his lips, kissing the space that hopefully soon will be occupied by an engagement ring. “You take things too seriously sometimes.” 

For a moment, Asahi doesn’t respond. He just touches his own hand, at the place Nishinoya kissed it. 

“I know,” he admits, sweetly, then he pulls at Noya’s cuffs, at the layers of wool that he just rolled up. “Give the sweater to me, Noya. I’m gonna go pay for it.” 

“Nooooo! It’s my sweater, I’ll pay for it!” Noya insists, bounding up and down as he struggles his way out of the sweater, “Or at least, give me your card. I’ll do the talking.”

Asahi laughs, covering his mouth as he does so. “Okay,” he says, giving in easily. Back in high school, or even in the beginning of their relationship, he would have insisted even more. _You don’t have to do that_ , he would say, or _what kind of person am I, if I get freaked out by a cash register?_ But he does. He does get freaked out by cashiers and cash registers. Asahi hates the anticipatory anxiety that comes with standing in line and paying for something, or worse, the entire process of ordering something to eat. He has tried all his life to get rid of the fear, but it’s hard. It just is. It’s another thing about Asahi that Noya doesn’t fully understand and never fully will, but he accepts it, and this is something that he can very easily help. 

It was one of their first relationship milestones. To get rid of the awkwardness of _no don’t worry about it let me do it I don’t want to burden you_ , Noya does the talking, and Asahi does the paying. It’s a perfect medium that satisfies them both. Of course, bigger transactions need to be handled in other ways, but for something small like a sweater or a few things of groceries, this works out. 

\---

Days like that - where things actually happen - remain a rarity during this trip, however. Most of the time they really just goof around and do nothing. Once, more than halfway into their month in Paris, they rent bikes and hang out in a Parisian suburb. They are really big trees here, and the streets contain more townhouses with small yards instead of apartments with balconies. The Eiffel Tower is far, far away, nowhere to be seen. Blocked by the height of some tree branch, probably. They have a picnic in the park around early afternoon, and then they scoot their way underneath the shadow of a tree, where Asahi reads a book and Nishinoya takes a nap. Noya tucks himself around Asahi’s folded legs, not fully in his lap but also not fully out of it. 

Asahi listens to him breathe, and watches his shoulders rise and fall. Beneath them, the picnic blanket (which is really a bedsheet) barely covers the bumps and grooves of the stiff grass, but it feels nice. It means Nishinoya lays his head on Asahi’s thigh, instead of on the ground. They don’t go home until the evening. 

Another day, they take a walk by the Seine. Nishinoya insists on getting ice cream, so they pass the cone back and forth between them until they finish it. Somehow, in between when they got the ice cream and when they’re done with it, they find their way onto a tour boat around dusk. It’s not extremely crowded, but a few people do congregate around and bump their shoulders against each other, so Asahi spends most of his time on the deck instead of actually inside of the boat, not listening to whatever the tour guide is trying to say. 

Nishinoya, as usual, hangs by his side. His slim hands grab onto the guardrail on the deck, and he hooks his feet onto the second to the last rung of the rail, hoisting himself up. He’s tall enough to lean his face onto the curve of Asahi’s shoulder, so he does, just because he can. 

“Please stop standing on the guardrail,” Asahi pleads, when a particular shake of the boat almost sends Nishinoya toppling into the depths of the Seine. 

“I’ll be fine,” Noya insists, but he does grab into the guardrail a little tighter, hooking his arms around the metal bar instead of just holding onto it with his hands. “Is this better?” 

“Not really,” Asahi says, from the flipping pit of his stomach, but he also says, “Well, a little,” because he knows that if it weren’t for his being here, Nishinoya would probably be stepping even higher on the guardrail, instead of just on the second to the last rung. If he was younger, a little less cosmopolitan than he is now, he might even contemplate intentionally leaping into the river just to experience the thrill of it. 

The Seine passes by the Eiffel Tower, so being on a boat allows Asahi and Noya to see it closer than they ever can from the apartment. Sure, they’re not as close to it as they can get on foot, but the monument is still humongous up close, the metal angles of it more tough and steely than Asahi ever imagined. 

He feels just a little betrayed. The Eiffel Tower gets included in so much romantic decor and imagery: handwritten letters, French pastries and wine, a beacon along the edge of the Seine, where couples hook lockets onto a bridge in order to hope for long-lasting love. 

Which reminds him, “Nishinoya.” 

The man in question turns around, and his eyes go straight to the pocket of Asahi’s capri pants, where Asahi is digging for something in his pocket. Then he takes it out, and lays it in his palm for Nishinoya to see. 

“A padlock,” Noya says. When Asahi turns it over in his hand, Noya reaches out a hand and runs his thumbs over the inscription of their names. Six characters of _kanji_ , carved into the body of the padlock, one name on top of the other. 

“I did some research,” Asahi says, shyly. “People used to put padlocks on the bridges of the Seine. They lock it on a bridge and then throw the key into the river, as a signifier of everlasting love. We can’t do it anymore because it’s illegal now,” - he shakes his head when he sees Nishinoya smirk at the word _illegal -_ “but I thought it would be… romantic, if we still… locked it, and… threw the key into the river.” 

In the sunset, Nishinoya’s eyes are golden. They match the streak of blond that hangs over his forehead, the only part of his hair that he doesn’t spike up every day. The little strand flutters in the wind, and that same breeze is running through Asahi’s own hair right now, as the boat continues its way down the river, sending the un-tied baby hairs up and around his face. The engine sputters, making waves in the water, sending droplets upwards around Asahi’s ankles, his shins. 

Nishinoya grins, and the brightness of it changes his entire face. “Sure,” he says, with surprising tenderness. 

So Asahi hands Noya the key, and they lock it together, the larger hand cradling the smaller hand as it twists the key, and the padlock shuts with a _click._ Then, Nishinoya flings the key as far as he can, and when it plops into the water, he jumps up and slams Asahi with a double high-five. Then, he sinks into Asahi’s chest like a child. 

“Don’t jump so high when you’re near the water,” Asahi says, swallowing a heart attack. “Who’s going to fish you out of the Seine?”

“I’ll just climb out myself,” Noya says into Asahi’s shirt. 

“Hey,” Asahi shakes his shoulder, until Noya lifts his head to look at him, “Nishinoya…” His heart is beating out of his chest, once again, as his thoughts go wild. How the hell does he ask this kind of thing? Is this even the right time? _But he looks so cute in the sunset, and we just threw the key of an eternal lock of love into the Seine._ He breathes. Start slow. Starting slow is good, so he says, “My boss is transferring me to the family and children’s department.” 

Nishinoya’s eyes go wide, at the mention of Asahi’s true dream, the demographic that he actually wants to design for. 

“Holy shit,” he says, then he starts bouncing again, “ASAHI, ASAHIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!”

Asahi wraps his arms around Nishinoya’s shoulders, turning him away from the guardrail, “No, no, no, no handstands by the Seine, please.” 

Nishinoya, muffled and restricted, wiggles and tries reaching for Asahi’s shoulders, “PICK ME UP!!!!”

“No!” 

People from inside the boat are turning to stare at them now. Flustered, Asahi ignores the goosebumps and turns his back toward them, sending Nishinoya toward the guardrail again. At that, the younger man stops squirming. That’s how Asahi knows that he has gotten the message to quiet down. 

“Is it our website?” Nishinoya asks when they separate, calmer this time, although he’s still tugging on Asahi’s arm; a sure sign that he still wants to be picked up and thrown around. “Did he see our website? Did he see your illustrations?” 

“It seems so,” Asahi says, tugging at Nishinoya right back, because there are butterflies in his stomach and Noya is the only thing that calms him down. “He’s also very interested in the person who designed it.” 

Noya’s jaw drops open. “You mean…” 

“He wants to know if you want to work for us, too.” Asahi says, then he pulls Noya into a deep embrace before the latter starts tumbling like a cheerleader around the deck. “It’s probably a mostly-virtual, you-can-set-your-own-hours, kind of thing. Part-time, most likely. They’re always looking for tech-savvy young people to do their social media, so you’re probably not their only recruit, but knowing you, it will probably be more fun that way.” 

Nishinoya’s arms come up to circle his back. His hands feel warm even over the layers of his coat. 

“A team, then. Isn’t that a little too good to be true?” he asks, because despite retaining his usual rashness and volatile temperament, he is no longer seventeen. “But yes. I want to do it.” 

“You barely even thought about it,” Asahi says, picking at the spikes in his boyfriend’s hair. 

“I want to do it.” 

“Even if they ask you to wear a suit to work?”

Nishinoya stiffens in his arms. “Will they?” 

“No,” Asahi says, then he hugs him a little tighter, biting back a laugh. “You take yourself too seriously sometimes.” 

That does something for Noya, apparently, because he lifts his chin and pulls Asahi down by his shirt, getting on his tiptoes in order to kiss him on the mouth. Just a chaste peck, nothing more. They’re in public, after all, even if Asahi's back is toward the crowd and Nishinoya is too small to be seen behind Asahi’s large frame. 

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into Asahi’s hair, by the shell of his ear, “Tomorrow, let’s come back here, to the Seine. I want to get an actual picture of the Eiffel Tower with its lights on.” 

And maybe it’s the seriousness in his voice, the shyness in his eyes, or the way he turns completely quiet in anticipation for a response, that makes Asahi’s forget about the legality of his request. His previous obsession with stopping Nishinoya from doing anything risky is suddenly, completely, nonexistent. Instead, he just says, “Okay.” He doesn’t even feel bad about it. 

\---

A day later, Noya can tell that Asahi is nervous about this. 

“What if,” he says, while they’re making dinner. “What if someone sees?” 

“Then let them see,” Noya answers, taking another small bite of the quiche, “You saw the people at the Seine yesterday. They took pictures of the Eiffel Tower like no big deal. Even the people in the boat did.” 

Then, twenty minutes later, while they’re washing dishes. “What if we get arrested? How do we talk to French police?” 

Noya lines the plates up on the drying rack. “With an English translator, I suppose.” 

Then, outside of the apartment, after they lock the door. “Nishinoya. What if we get deported-” 

“Asahi-san,” Noya says, a little harsher than he intended. There is a small blue box in his pocket that he’s been fiddling with since before their trip to Paris, and the whole idea of proposing is freaking him out more than he thought it would. “I promise that we’ll be okay. Do you trust me?” 

Asahi takes a deep breath, then he lets it out. “More than anything.” 

So they make their way to the Seine, Noya holding onto Asahi’s arm. The walk is mostly silent, and it makes Noya think that Asahi probably has guessed what he’s planning on doing because he’s also more reserved than usual, but then again: 

“Are you still nervous about the picture?” Nishinoya asks, because sometimes when Asahi is nervous, he goes quiet. 

As he expects, Asahi turns away. “It’s just. Doing something illegal in public is very different from doing it in our apartment.” Then he pauses, and he makes a face like he’s prepared to fight a wild boar. “But I trust you.” 

“Of course you do,” Noya replies, and it relieves the pressure in his chest, somewhat. 

When they get to the Seine, it’s nearly 10 o’clock at night. There are still people around, of course, because they’re in a tourist area, but it’s a lot less crowded than dusk. The sky is pitch black with limited stars, but here on the ground, there are street lamps all around. It makes everything glow a little, somehow, or maybe that’s just Noya’s imagination running wild, romanticizing the atmosphere because of what he’s about to do. 

The Eiffel Tower in front of them is so tall, it does not seem to end. Noya thinks that it probably slices every cloud it comes across into halves, and has permanently punctured a hole into the stratosphere. Despite their drastic difference in height, both he and Asahi have to lift their heads nearly horizontally in order to see the top. So, he hands his phone to Asahi and talks him through a few angles he can stand in order to take the best picture possible. 

“Not a selfie?” Asahi asks, when Noya makes him use the back camera, instead of the front. 

“I want an actual good picture of it, and _then_ we can take a selfie.” Noya’s heart is jumping out his ribcage, but he masks it well, he thinks. Being expressive most of the time means that no one expects him to be pensive, nor to ever put on an act. 

Asahi, meanwhile, doesn’t have a filter like that. 

“Then why am I taking the picture, then?” he sputters, looking like he’s visibly going to panic. “You don’t need long arms to take a back-camera photo.” 

Noya schools his face into the most neutral eyebrow raise he can summon. “Asahi-san, did you just call my arms short?” 

Asahi opens his mouth to say something, then he closes it. 

“Here, I’ll make you a promise.” Noya says, then he grins, “We’ll take the photos right when the lights come on and leave right away, okay? No police can catch us then.” 

Asahi scrunches his eyebrows, then he nods. So Noya talks him through a few more angles and positions, his eyes darting to time that is displayed in the top right corner of his phone. 

_9:57pm._

_9:58pm._

_9:59pm._

“Alright, Asahi-san. Looks like the lights are coming on soon, be ready!” Noya pumps his fist, and as Asahi turns away from him to focus on the dark Eiffel Tower on the phone screen. Then, Noya backtracks. One step, two steps. “Anytime now,” he calls out, and he sees Asahi almost drop the phone, before scrambling back into position in anticipation of the lights. All that is left is to wait.

But, time moves slower when you’re waiting. A watched pot never boils; that’s the idiom for it. 

Twenty seconds pass in complete silence. 

Asahi lowers his hands. 

“Nishi-” Asahi says as he turns around, and then he stops. A few passersby start to gasp.

With one knee on the ground, a balloon threatening to pop in his chest, Noya’s trembling arms hold open a tiny, blue jewelry box. He can’t see it, but he knows that the box holds a gleaming silver ring, a small star on the inside of the band brighter than anything in the Parisian city skyline. But from here, all he can see is Asahi, his own star; the ace of his old team, the ace of his future. 

“Asahi, will you marry me?” 

Noya feels the words stumble out, but even to himself, his voice sounds far away, like he’s here but he’s also not here, like he’s nowhere but also everywhere at once. 

Asahi’s eyes widen, as his gaze flickers from Noya’s position on the ground, to the spark of the silver ring. Something shiny starts to swim in his eyes, as his hands come up to his face, covering his open lips. 

“Nishinoya,” he manages to breath out, and just then, right _then_ , the Eiffel Tower behind him bursts into yellow and orange from the base of the building all the way up to the sky, lighting up the world around them like a rising sun, their moment of dawn in the middle of nighttime.

For just one second, Noya lets himself get distracted by the way Asahi’s silhouette glows, and the way he is reaching his large hands into his own pocket. Asahi is pretty, like a polaroid picture. 

His large hands pull out a tiny, brown jewelry box. 

Noya’s breath stops. Even in his absent mind, he knows that this is a moment that has come straight out of a fairy tale, one that people only dream of instead of experience, and it deserves to be written into history books. 

Asahi takes one, two steps toward Noya, and gets down on one knee right in front of him. He fills even the edges of Noya’s field of vision. The tiny, brown jewelry box pops open, and it’s a golden ring, a classic wedding band just like the one that Noya chose for him. 

“Nishino-” 

“Yes,” Noya says, unable to take his eyes off the gold ring, the way it refracts the orange lights around it. “Yes, a million times.” 

Asahi laughs, the sound of it clear-cut and wonderful. “Let me ask the question!” he says, flustered but also grinning, and Noya thinks that his beloved has never looked this beautiful. “Noya, will you marry me?” 

The balloon in his chest bursts, and it releases an entire forest worth of butterflies. Noya’s stomach flutters and his head swims, but it’s all in the best, most pleasant way possible. 

“YES,” Noya says, firmly this time, practically shouting, “You have to say yes, too.” 

Asahi leans half his smile into his hand, the one that’s not holding the box, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Nishinoya.” 

Then, as they’re both still kneeling on the ground, exchanging rings under the blazing light of the Eiffel Tower, they hear clapping. A small crowd has congregated around them, apparently, and they’re clapping. Cheering. They hear a lot of words and phrases that they don’t understand, but they also hear _congratulations_ , in English and in French _._ They hear _beautiful._ Most of all, they hear happiness. They feel happiness. Right now, looking at the golden ring on his finger, the one that Asahi put on him with both their names on the inside, Noya thinks that he _is_ happiness. He is the embodiment of it, and he never will not be. 

The Eiffel Tower only lights up for five minutes per hour, from dusk until one in the morning. They’ve googled about this even before arriving in Paris, and they see it every day from the window of their balcony. The pattern repeats each day, without fail, like clockwork. At this point, it’s almost lost its novelty for them, but then again, the keyword is _almost_. 

Asahi and Noya don’t plan to stay here until one in the morning, no, but they do sit on the ground for a moment longer just to savor the moment. They kiss, in _public_ , because what the hell, they’re engaged _._ They can kiss anywhere they damn please. 

Eventually, the lights fade. Eventually, the crowd recedes. 

But their five minutes last forever. 

\---

Asahi had chosen the golden ring based on suggestions from Suga and Daichi. The three of them never did go ring-shopping together, no, but Asahi had been sending pictures of rings to them for _months_ , so they might as well have. He was surprised to hear that Nishinoya had enlisted their help as well, and marveled at the true extent that their friends have pulled through for them to make this magical engagement possible. 

“I got silver because they remind me of Miyagi’s winter skies, and both Suga-san and I thought that you’ll like the tiny diamond.” Nishinoya says, while Asahi tries to carry him like a bride from the Seine all the way to their apartment. He almost makes the full fifteen minutes, before his arms start to cramp and he has to let Noya down. 

“I got the gold because they’re the color of your eyes during sunset,” Asahi says, and Nishinoya laughs shyly, before craning up to leave a kiss on his cheek. 

“Only you can think of sappy stuff like that.” He says. 

The next day, they wake up at noon. Mainly because they don’t sleep much the night before, but also because once they wake up, neither of them move to get out of bed. It’s nice, lying close together like this. It’s like stopping time. 

They get up at noon, but they do their usual morning thing. Put the coffee in the Keurig, brush their teeth in front of the sink, and have Nishinoya hop onto the breakfast bar so that he can tie Asahi’s hair. They head to a bakery for _pain au chocolat_ , then they come back and just… stay home. Nishinoya puts on his blue-light glasses and he works on his magazine design, while Asahi draws. In the afternoon, they browse the same few apartment hunting websites that Asahi has been looking on for apartments in Tokyo. Nishinoya is a lot more invested than before, now that he might actually spend more time there due to his possible new job, and because they’re getting married. 

_They’re getting married_ , it makes the back of Asahi’s neck feel hot, when he thinks about it. 

“I still need to interview for the job and all that, though,” Nishinoya says, frowning. “I’m an amateur at this design thing, anyway.” 

“You have good intuition for it,” Asahi reminds him. “Calligraphy, four-word idioms. Types, font, design. You’ve always been good at those things.” 

But Nishinoya just purses his lips. He had high expectations for himself as a teenager, but that holds no candle to the standard that adult Nishinoya holds himself to now. 

“I promise that you’ll be very helpful for them,” Asahi says, kissing him on the cheekbone, “You’re perfect.” 

Noya responds to the compliment by turning around to kiss him on the mouth. “That will shut you up,” he says. Nishinoya still gets flustered with compliments, even now. Asahi thinks it’s endearing. 

They talk about what they want for a wedding. Not super extravagant but definitely big, where they can invite the family and friends that they grew up with, as well as and their plus-ones. It would be kind of like the Tanakas’ wedding, where the old Karasuno Volleyball Team also gets a reunion celebration, just by chance. This is what Asahi has always wanted for himself, and he still wants it, except now that he’s dated Nishinoya for so long, he’s decided that sometimes he can also be young and stupid; hence, they’re also thinking of eloping. At least eloping isn’t illegal. Asahi can get behind that sentiment. 

“Let’s do both,” Noya says, with a sense of finality. He’s still wearing his blue-light glasses, and it gives him an air of scholarly determination. “A big wedding in Japan with all our friends, and then we can elope somewhere where we can actually get certificates.” 

Asahi is taken aback by how authoritatively Nishinoya made that decision, but that’s him: Mr. World Wide, who hath no fear. Sometimes Asahi thinks about the stories that Nishinoya tells him about his time abroad, and he can only think to himself, _how is this man still alive and completely intact with all his limbs and fingers?_ It just doesn’t seem possible. But then again, sometimes he thinks to himself, _how did I land this man as a boyfriend? As a partner?_ And yet. Asahi glances at his hand, at the silver ring on his left hand. He likes the little diamond inside of the band, and loves the little diamond that gave it to him. 

They eat dinner in the evening, and this time, as the curtain of dusk draws over the city of love, both Asahi and Nishinoya watch each other closely, full of anticipation. From across the breakfast bar, Asahi sees the sparks on both of Nishinoya’s ring fingers, one gold and one silver, gleaming in the muted atmosphere of dusk. 

Then, as the burst of orange comes into view from the balcony, Asahi stumbles out from his seat and Nishinoya swings himself over the table, falling into his arms. They kiss, over and over again, until the orange fades away and the sky turns from yellow, to navy, to purple. 

“Asahi,” Nishinoya gasps, out of breath. His hands cradle Asahi’s face, and he can feel the coolness of the rings there, right on top of his cheekbones. “Asahi, I love you. I love you so much.” 

And this confession is just like every other confession that he has ever made, but it feels different. It feels like _more_. Sparks fly, they always do. 

“Nishinoya,” Asahi kisses him again, as the night sky descends, and the city of love comes alive. He wraps his arms around Nishinoya; his fiance, his greatest love. The man he’s going to marry. “I love you, too, so much. More than anything.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic is taken from the song [YOUTH](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYAghEq5Lfw) by Troye Sivan.


End file.
